by Lisa Carter
Hardheadedness apparently being an unfortunate Collier family trait.
Canyon raked his hand over his head. “That’s exactly what I’m giving you, Jade. A chance to start over. You can be anything you want to be. Choose to be smarter than the rest of us sooner. How about doughnuts and a Coca-Cola float?”
He had it on good authority—his friend Sawyer Kole, ex-Coastie and now happily married father of five-month-old Daisy—that all kids loved ice cream and sugar.
But Jade refused to get out of the Jeep.
He gritted his teeth. Sawyer better enjoy his precious baby girl, because Canyon had news for him—parenting promised to only get rockier from there.
Exasperated, he swung open the car door. “More for me then.”
If this was a sign of things to come, it was going to be a long two years until she turned eighteen.
He moved toward the glass-fronted diner. Who was he kidding? He and Jade would be fortunate to survive together till Easter.
And his eyes flickered toward the cross atop the steeple. Jade—not the Coast Guard or flying airplanes—might make a praying man out of him yet.
Chapter Three
Hands folded in her lap, Kristina glanced around the ladies’ parlor at the members of the church altar guild. She wasn’t sure why she’d come to the Easter planning meeting this morning. But while living the vagabond life of a military wife, she’d often longed for a place to establish roots.
Especially for Gray. He hadn’t been the type of child who adjusted well to a new school every few years. Bookish, a video geek, he didn’t make friends easily.
Nor did she. It was simpler not to reach out. Or face the inevitable sorrow of parting with friends when Pax was restationed.
But this time she wanted things to be different. This was a new start for them. Kiptohanock, a place to make a real home. After Pax died, she’d moved across the country to the Shore to be near Weston.
The Eastern Shore of Virginia was a narrow peninsula separating the Chesapeake Bay from the Atlantic Ocean. Isolated. Not as readily accessible to the rest of the continental United States.
Her grandfather had been the last lighthouse keeper before the Coast Guard decommissioned the lighthouse in the 1950s. But her family had returned each summer. She possessed fond memories of those idyllic beach days and wanted Gray to know the same.
Small-town life. A caring community. After a lifetime of following Pax around the world.
Here, Gray had a chance to know what it meant to be part of a close-knit family. To watch summer fireflies. To clam. To fish. Before he left her forever.
So when she read the announcement in the church bulletin inviting anyone interested in serving on the altar guild to attend a planning meeting, she’d decided to give it a try. To make new friends. To get involved in community life.
Now she wasn’t so sure. The encounter with Canyon Collier had left her feeling oddly exposed. She shrugged off the vague feelings of vulnerability. Anyone would be shaken after almost being run over by an airplane. And she pushed the incident to the nether regions of her mind.
Her gaze traveled over the ladies at the meeting. Sixtysomething Mrs. Davenport held court in a brocade armchair strategically placed at the unofficial head of the room. According to Caroline, Mrs. Davenport was a social force to be reckoned with in Kiptohanock.
Librarian Evy Pruitt perched in a nearby chair. The pastor’s wife, Agnes Parks, smiled at Kristina while Mrs. Davenport waxed on about Lenten altar cloths. And there was also Caroline’s sister, Honey Kole. She owned the Duer Fisherman’s Lodge. Her darling baby daughter dozed in her car seat on the carpet at Honey’s feet.
Kristina bit off a sigh. She’d always wanted more children. But Pax had been deployed so often that he thought after Gray was born, one child was enough.
Honey played with the pearls at her throat. “What about breakfast after the Easter sunrise service?”
The other ladies hid their smiles behind teacups. And Kristina got the distinct impression if anyone was likely to challenge Mrs. Davenport’s leadership, Honey Duer Kole might be the one to do it.
Which was fine. Kristina had no social aspirations. By nature, she was more worker bee than queen bee.
An officer’s wife learned early to tune in to the fine nuances of base politics. It was how you furthered your husband’s career, kept your family intact and survived the long deployments with fellow military wives.
Finally, the discussion shifted to the topic Kristina was interested in—the altar flowers. Bending, Honey smoothed the pink blanket tucked around her daughter. “It’s so inconvenient to have to travel out of town for floral arrangements.”
Mrs. Davenport peered over the top of her purple reading glasses. “And considering the expense, it behooves us to find another solution.”
Behooves? Mrs. Davenport reminded Kristina of the high-society clients with whom she’d worked as a part-time floral assistant during her college days in Richmond.
“The inn’s garden won’t be at its best till May.” Honey’s lips pursed. “What about your garden?”
Mrs. Davenport—the only one in casual, coastal Kiptohanock to wear purple tweed—lifted her chin. “Inglenook will also not be in full bloom until Garden Week in May.”
Kristina had never actually known anyone whose house had a name.
Honey gave Mrs. Davenport a measured look. “Which, of course, works out perfectly for you.”
Mrs. Davenport sniffed. “Inglenook has taken the Garden of the Year award for the last five years.”
“Perhaps not this year.” Honey batted her lashes. “It’s probably best not to count your trophies before they bloom.”
Kristina’s mouth twitched. Garden divas. Got it. Stay out of the fray.
Mrs. Parks shook her head. “Ladies, let’s get back to decorating the sanctuary of the Lord this Sunday.”
As if taking on a life of its own, Kristina lifted her hand. “What about an arrangement of sasanqua camellia? I have several bushes in bloom right now...” Horrified, she dropped her hand into her lap.
What on earth had possessed her to violate her personal policy of always flying under the radar? Rule one in navigating tricky social hierarchies—keep a low profile.
Evy leaned forward, her trademark heels planted on the pine floor. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Her ponytail swished as she angled toward Mrs. Davenport. “Don’t you, Margaret?”
Mrs. Davenport stared at Kristina. “Do I know you?”
“Kristina Montgomery,” she whispered and knotted her fingers in her lap. “My son, Gray, and I just moved to Kiptohanock.”
Margaret Davenport’s nose wrinkled. “A ‘come here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She was whispering again. “Weston Clark’s sister.”
“Which makes you related to the Duers.” Mrs. Davenport pinched her lips together. “By marriage.”
Already she’d fallen afoul of village politics. Blacklisted by association.
Honey bristled. “As is Evy.”
Margaret Davenport, also known as the Kiptohanock grapevine, had a soft spot for the young librarian. Behind her fashionable horn-rimmed glasses, Evy’s blue eyes sparkled.
Honey placed her palms on the armrests. “Which makes Evy my sister, too.” She threw Mrs. Davenport a small smile. “By marriage.”
Kristina should’ve asked Caroline, her sister by marriage, to draw Kiptohanock family trees to avoid any genealogical land mines.
Mrs. Davenport steepled her hands under her chin. “And where exactly do you live, Kristina Montgomery?”
“Outside town. Toward Locustville. I bought the Collier house.”
Mrs. Davenport fluttered her hand. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Eileen Collier’s garden used to be a showpl
ace.” Her lip curled. “Before that no-good grandson of hers made her a recluse.”
Canyon Collier, the no-good grandson? Despite how she appreciated him taking Gray to task regarding his attitude, unease needled Kristina. She needed to find out more about her attractive pilot neighbor. For Gray’s sake, of course.
“The camellias sound lovely.” The reverend’s wife smiled. “What about the other Sundays of Lent leading to Easter, ladies?”
Kristina raised her hand again. “I have a garden border, mostly of fragrant old-fashioned violets.”
Her eyes widened. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?
Yet she held her hands in front of herself to demonstrate. “We could place the violets in tiny frogs and group them around the base of the cross—”
“Purple violets would match the altar cloth.” Mrs. Davenport uncoiled a smidgen. “And in my considerable experience, anyone who knows about a floral frog can’t be all bad.”
Not a ringing endorsement, but nevertheless...
Evy swiveled. “What’s a frog?”
Mrs. Davenport motioned for Kristina to continue.
She took a breath. “Frogs are used in the bottom of vases and bowls to hold flowers upright in an arrangement. The frogs are usually made in a woven grid of wire spikes. Or a frog can be a round glass disk with holes. Popular in the 1940s, ’50s and ’60s.” She flushed and fell silent.
Honey nodded. “Do you have any frogs we could use for the altar arrangement?”
Kristina didn’t usually talk so much. She was far more comfortable fading into the background. But flowers were a passion of hers. “I have my grandmother’s collection of vintage frogs. Colored Depression glass.”
“Depression glass?” Mrs. Davenport’s eyes lit. “I love Depression glass.” She waved a beringed hand. “In fact, I collect those myself.”
The baby stirred in her car seat. Honey lifted Daisy and cuddled the child in her arms. “Sounds wonderful. Anything else blooming in your garden, Kristina?”
Kristina tilted her head, thinking out loud. “I have white and mauve Lenten roses. Some blooming daphne also.”
Mrs. Davenport’s steely gaze softened. “Lenten roses for the Good Friday service. What could be more appropriate?” A frown creased her brow. “But with my work at the library, I’m not sure I could get to your house and put together a bouquet this week.”
Evy patted Mrs. Davenport’s arm. “You’re always saying how you’re too busy because of social obligations. Why not put Kristina in charge of the altar flowers this Lenten season?”
The newlywed librarian winked at Kristina. “Anyone who knows the Latin name for a camellia probably can be trusted to arrange the flowers.”
Agnes Parks straightened. “An excellent idea. After all, you promised to help me run the Easter egg hunt on the square, Margaret.”
Mrs. Davenport’s eyes narrowed as if she suspected an attempted coup. “That is true.” She scowled at Kristina. “We have high standards here in Kiptohanock, Mrs. Montgomery.”
Kristina gulped. “I’ll do my best not to let you down, Mrs. Davenport.”
Mrs. Davenport became brisk. “Then that item on today’s agenda is settled.” As she shuffled the pages in her lap, her eyes took on a gleam. “I have some ideas to make this year’s pancake supper at the firehouse even more successful than last year. But it will require every hand on deck.”
Filled with sudden self-doubt, Kristina wondered what she’d done. She wasn’t a professional florist. Gray’s sarcastic remarks about her competence, or lack thereof, replayed in her head. But she loved flowers and always felt most at ease in a garden.
Like Gray loved tinkering with airplanes? Was she making a mistake in trying to keep him from what he loved?
Kristina winced at the memory of the scorn in his voice. Was that how he viewed his mother? Fearful, unskilled and worst of all, boring?
Shell-shocked at Pax’s sudden death, she’d retreated like a turtle into its protective cover. And she’d dragged Gray—against his will—in there with her.
Was it already too late? She’d been disturbed by the anger in Gray’s voice. At his bitterness—toward her.
In trying too hard to keep Gray safe, had she already lost her son? Would Pax recognize the woman she’d become? Did she even like the woman she’d become?
She was tired of waking each morning to the all-consuming fear of what the new day could bring. She was drowning them both with her fears. She’d had such dreams before she married Pax.
Dreams she’d surrendered gladly as they pursued Pax’s career. Dreams sublimated as the demands of being a wife and mother slowly eroded everything she used to be. Was it time to reach for those dreams again?
Could she recapture the joyful young woman Pax had fallen in love with? Didn’t she owe it to Pax’s memory, to Gray and to herself to try?
Perhaps she’d taken the first step out of her safety zone by joining the altar guild. As for Gray’s job with Canyon Collier?
When the committee meeting adjourned, she detoured to the aquatic center work site before heading home. After a probing conversation with Sawyer Kole, she came to a decision.
She was determined to face her fears. And to take back her life.
* * *
Fortified with a takeout bag stuffed with Long Johns, Canyon steered the Jeep toward one of the side streets, which meandered from the town square like spokes on a wheel. Heading north on Seaside Road, he blew past the entrance to the Duer inn.
Past Pauline Crockett’s—she’d been the first farmer to give his business a chance. An old friend of his grandmother’s, and a true friend, word of mouth being everything in his business.
He also bypassed the causeway leading out to Weston Clark’s renovated lighthouse. Bringing Kristina Montgomery to mind. And the inexplicable contempt she bore Canyon.
Maybe not so inexplicable. Perhaps Jade was right. The Collier reputation continued to precede him. Always would.
So when he pulled into the airfield and spotted Kristina and Gray on his doorstep, his gut sank. His hands throttled the wheel. If not Jade, then Kristina Montgomery might drive him to his knees. Or an early grave.
“Who’s that?”
Parking beside the Subaru, Canyon sat in the Jeep with Jade for a moment. “Next-door neighbors.”
Might as well get this over with. He didn’t like how his heart thumped at the sight of the widow. Best to keep her at arm’s length.
“She’s pretty.”
Not a news flash, but at Jade’s wistful tone, he glanced at his niece. She could’ve benefited from someone like Kristina Montgomery in her life. Instead, she’d gotten Beech and Brandi.
And now him. No wonder the kid was screwed up. A recurring theme in the Collier family tree.
“Who’s the goofy boy?”
Canyon shoved out of the Jeep. “His name’s Grayson. He’s not goofy. He’s a nice kid. Good with motors.” He grabbed Jade’s duffel from the backseat.
She got out more slowly. “A geek, you mean.”
Across the Jeep roof, he frowned at her. “Seeing as you’re not exactly drowning with friends, it wouldn’t hurt you to be nice. He could show you the ropes at school on Monday.”
Her mouth flattened. “Who says I’m going to school on Monday?”
Canyon slung the strap of the bag over his shoulder. “Me and Child Protective Services, that’s who.”
She slammed the passenger door. “Like I’d hang out with a loser like him. Get real.”
Her cynicism reminded Canyon of himself and Beech at that age. A defense mechanism. Or so he hoped.
Despite her name, he prayed she wasn’t too jaded to be reached. That somehow Jade could yet be saved from the destructive path she was on. Although as he’d proven with her father, Canyo
n was the last one on earth who should mount a rescue.
He headed toward mother and son, waiting on the steps of his office and living quarters. Leaving Jade to follow or not. Because not only could you not force a horse to drink, it was futile to lead them to water unless they were thirsty.
But what did he know? He’d failed to save Beech from himself, and he’d probably fail Beech’s daughter, too. He’d never been anyone’s hero. Nor was he likely to be.
Gray threw up his hand. “Hey, Canyon.”
His mother’s lips thinned. At least Gray was pleased to see him.
“Mom said she wanted to talk to you.”
That sounded ominous. Probably to announce she’d reported him to the FAA.
“And—” Gray smiled, looking beyond Canyon “—I wanted to say hello to Jade.”
Kristina Montgomery shifted as she caught sight of his niece. He was aware of the impression Jade created. An impression he suspected she cultivated.
The skinny black jeans. Beneath the leather jacket, the too-tight shirt exposing her midriff. An eyebrow ring. The magenta-streaked hair. Oh, and the five studs piercing one ear.
Battle armor. He remembered it well. Donned to shock. Before the Guard had gotten hold of him.
Gray’s mother stiffened as she got a good look. And something in his chest thundered. Was this the kind of reception Jade would receive from the rest of Kiptohanock?
He positioned himself between Jade and the Montgomerys. Kristina’s gaze flitted to his. No one was more surprised by his sudden protectiveness than Canyon.
Gray extended his hand. “I’m Gray. You’re Jade?”
Probably without realizing it, Jade inched closer to Canyon. An unfamiliar pang shot through his chest. He broadened his shoulders.
But Jade was nothing if not plucky on the uptake. “Only name I got. Try not to wear it out.”
Gray smiled and let his hand drop, unoffended. “You were a little girl in the picture on Canyon’s desk.” His brown eyes shone with frank admiration. “You’ve grown up.”
Kristina’s eyes ping-ponged between her son and Jade. No way she’d allow her precious offspring within ten feet of somebody like Jade. Or him.
